


I Can Make Your Hands Clap

by autoeuphoric (FreezingRayne)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Light Praise Kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:30:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezingRayne/pseuds/autoeuphoric
Summary: Victor recalls watching Yuuri perform his own program on grainy cellphone video, flinging himself across the ice in an exquisite frenzy that blurred between rapture and despair. The glowing, possessive thrill; the sensation of the world beginning to shift.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Join me while I pretend the world doesn't exist and just write gay-ass ice skating fic.

Yuuri’s neck is sensitive. So are the soft spots beneath his ears, the spaces between his ribs, the small of his back. He shivers when Victor pulls down the collar of his shirt to kiss the top of his spine. 

“All those blank spaces on your wall,” Victor says against his ear, breathing in a hard puff just so Yuuri will feel the heat of his breath. “What used to be there, hmm?” 

When Yuuri flushes, it isn’t just his face. His skin heats all the way down his chest. Victor can feel it when moulds himself to the counters of his back, reaching round to unbutton his shirt. 

“You--you know what,” Yuuri pants. He sounds as winded as he does when he steps off the ice after hours spent bending his body into the shapes Victor has taught it. 

Yuuri has very little experience in these sorts of situations. Victor likes that. Yuuri is younger than him, more naive. He likes that too. If that makes him a creep, well, it doesn’t mean it’s any less true. He recalls watching Yuuri perform Victor’s own program on grainy cellphone video, flinging himself across the ice in an exquisite frenzy that blurred between rapture and despair. The glowing, possessive thrill; the sensation of the world beginning to shift. 

He finishes with Yuuri’s shirt and tosses it to the ground, drags his hands over the expanse of clean muscle, the slight remaining softness of his belly. He pinches Yuuri’s nipples between thumbs and forefingers just to feel him squirm. 

“You think about me, don’t you?” He threads his voice with the same calm authority he uses before Yuuri’s competitions, when he commands him to seduce them all with everything he has, and he feels him respond to that as much as the sensation. “When you’re alone?” 

“Don’t--Don’t just ask things like that,” Yuuri gasps, voice hovering on the edge of a laugh. 

“You’re right, it’s very unprofessional. You should probably report me. But first--.” He slides his hand down the front of Yuuri’s jeans, palming him through his underwear. 

Yuuri squeaks. Victor nips at his ear and he squeaks again, hips juttering, seeking more friction. 

“You--.” He laughs in one hard rush. “You’re kind of a tease.” 

“I am _absolutely_ a tease.” Victor won’t be able to tease him for too long, however. He is simply too tempting. He pulls Yuuri’s cock out and gives it a few quick strokes. It’s a good cock, small but nicely shaped. He likes how it feels in his hand. 

_Of course you do, you idiot_ , he tells himself ruefully. _You like every part of him. You’re smitten._

He gives the head a little squeeze. “Ah!” Yuuri’s hips pulse forward and Victor has to strain to keep him stationary. 

“Shh.” It’s late, but that doesn’t mean no one is awake. And sound carries shockingly well in the old, drafty corridors of the inn. It had just been a reflex--not even really a serious order, but Yuuri immediately swallows his gasps. Victor doesn’t really want to dwell too much on the trembling rush of arousal that sets off inside him. 

It’s not that he gets off on Yuuri doing what he says, it’s just...well. Maybe he does. 

He knows himself well enough to admit it stoked his ego to arrive in Japan and realize the depths of Yuuri’s hero worship, but seeing him skate, the passion that flows from him as soon as he steps onto the ice, that had been something beyond ego. That had been the purest, deepest love Victor has felt for his own sport in months. Years, if he’s totally honest. 

Yuuri trembles against him, voice catching as he fights to keep quiet. Victor suddenly wishes he hadn’t shushed him--he wants to hear him, even if he wakes up the whole resort. He is also amused and very charmed to discover that Yuuri’s stamina on the ice does not translate to every part of his life.

His breaths stutter, already on the edge, and Victor stops. He pulls his hands away. Yuuri makes a sharp, broken noise, hips jerking. “Victor! Why--don’t--.” He moans with eloquent frustration. 

Victor wants to devour him, he wants to eat him alive. “You can wait a little bit, can’t you? Don’t be so impatient.” He kisses his cheeks, his jaw, the nape of his neck. 

“Victor--.” Yuuri sounds like he’s close to tears. Victor waits until his breaths have calmed down a bit, then he wraps a hand around him again, sliding his fingers through the little beads of slick, spreading them around the head. Yuuri hiccups and gasps, little tremors racking him. 

“You’re wonderful, Yuuri,” Victor says senselessly. “You’re delicious. I want, god--.” He sucks sharp, stinging bites into Yuuri’s neck, jerking him hard and quick. 

“Victor, I’m--please!” 

This time when Victor pulls his hand away, Yuuri sobs, his whole body curling forward in strain. One of his hands twitches toward his cock. Victor catches it before he can touch himself.

“Wait,” he whispers. 

Yuuri’s hands curl into fists. His breaths rattles and sweat paints the back if his neck as he starts to laugh again. “Is--is this endurance training?” 

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Victor smiles. 

The third time he starts and stops again, Yuuri is trembling. The fourth time he lets out the filthiest string of profanity Victor has ever heard from him, including the time he almost skated over his own finger. The fifth, his voice breaks on a desperate litany of, “Victor, Victor, please!”

Well. Since he asked so nicely. 

This time when Yuuri’s voice tightens and his breaths boil over, Victor doesn’t stop. He _does_ have the presence of mind to press his free hand over Yuuri’s mouth. He comes hot and and slippery across Victor’s fingers, the futon frame screaming as his whole body jerks. His wail is drowned down to nothing, and Victor makes the solemn resolution to bring him home with him as soon as possible, where he can make as much noise as he wants. 

He strokes him through the aftershocks, murmuring more absurd praise, half in English, half in Russian. Yuuri is responding to him in Japanese, but his grasp on the language isn’t strong enough to parse it. 

Yuuri squeaks a little, pushes Victor’s hand away from his mouth, then from his dick. “Stop, I can’t breathe.” He struggles out of Victor’s grip, lungs expanding, and Victor feels a hard flash of fear that he’s pushed too hard, he’s misread the situation, but then Yuuri sags back into Victor’s arms with a little contented sigh. 

He trusts Victor--with his career, his body, his heart. Now all Victor has to do is make sure he lives up to it.

**Author's Note:**

> now to write a sequel where Yuuri tops Victor, which is desperately relevant after the latest episode. 
> 
> autoeuphoric on tumblr.


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